


Evergreen

by UnholyHelbig



Series: What's Forever? [2]
Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/F, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:01:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27679121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnholyHelbig/pseuds/UnholyHelbig
Summary: Beca Mitchell is a reporter that travels across the east coast. When scarlet fever begins to overtake much of the world, she’s forced to cover a story in one of the largest, newest, hospitals. She is soon captivated by the head nurse and then stolen by something more.[The Prequel to "What's Forever?"]
Relationships: Chloe Beale & Beca Mitchell, Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell
Series: What's Forever? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1522145
Comments: 9
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Beca Mitchell spotted** Evergreen Sanatorium through the large oak trees before anything else. It could very well be due to the fact that it stuck out in the rolling green hills of Virginia like a sore thumb. It was the only building for a matter of miles and quite the building it was; with its dark brick exterior and iron gates keeping everyone from climbing in- or for that matter, out.

She couldn’t help the way her breath caught. She had pushed herself forward in the little town car and felt her sweaty palms slip against the cracked leather seats. The man driving frowned in the rearview mirror, but she pretended not to notice, just like she pretended not to notice the stench of whisky on his breath and the crumbs in his uncombed mustache.

He had been leaning heavily against his taxi cab, a Chevy that may have been new at some point, but was a dingy maroon now. It was a sorry attempt to imitate the checkers she had left behind in Chicago hours before. He had taken four bites to the bitter core of his apple and dragged his sleeve against his lips before tossing it aside when he saw her approach.

“Ye heading to Evergreen, are ya?” He had a thick welsh accent.

She nodded as he popped the trunk and she wondered how he had ended up on the East Coast. Virginia was no place for fools or a place to settle down. It was part of the reason her editor had sent her here in the first place. She was expendable, and so was this story. It was nothing but a puff piece on one of the newest Hospitals in the state; the first of its kind. It was bent on solving the rising threat of Consumption. Something more than stifled.

The real reporting was for the men.

But Beca Mitchell considered herself something of a real reporter, so she jumped at the chance to board a flight. The scent of nature and manure was overwhelming, and so was the apple that her driver had discarded. But she was glad to be here, peering up at the large building. It made her fingers tingle, and her toes even more.

“This place is huge.”

“Better be, it houses half of Waverly’s population. Tiny little town. It’s been hit just as hard as the rest of the world by this illness. You ain’t feeling sick, are ye?”

She eyed him and pushed herself back into her seat. “Nauseous from your driving, that’s all.”

He laughed at that and she smiled. He wasn’t too bad, a little brash. She wanted to learn more of him and how he had ended up here, surrounded by this much grass instead of the dank streets of Europe. But they had pulled up to the large iron gates before she could fish for what she really wanted to know.

The trees that surrounded the property were in full flame. Beca could smell the pungent dirt in the air as she cranked the window down and welcomed the way Jack Frost bit at her cheeks. It mixed toxically with the embossed leather of her driver. He mumbled something under his breath and tightened his coat. The gates pulled themselves open effortlessly because they had been expecting the pair.

Evergreen Sanitarium was larger than it had been when they started up the drive, and that, she expected. The main building was comprised of three parts, one that stretched into the slate sky and two others that moved to the side. It was carved from brick and stone and a large metal plaque was welded into the face. _Evergreen Hospital & Research Facility _It read _EST. 1910._

There was a large fountain and a circle that stopped the drive. The gravel crunched under their tires, but she focused on the two angels with slightly green water dribbling down their chins into an even greener pool. 

“You need help with yer bags, ma’am?”

“No, I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

Her words had a bit of a sarcastic bite to them, but she truly meant them. There was an ungodly chill in the air and no two people should suffer the elements when it was only one stop. She fished out a hefty tip from her coat pocket and dropped it in his callused palm before parting ways.

She hadn’t expected a welcome wagon, not in the slightest, but the property looked abandoned entirely. Beca adjusted her bag over her shoulder and watched as the town car that had brought her up here turned into nothing but a speck.

She takes a few steps towards the fountain, listening to the trickle of the water as she fought off the scent of gasoline. The pool wasn’t emerald, not entirely. There was a layer of copper coins at the bottom that reflected the grass. She let the tips of her fingers brush against the surface, sending ripples as the cold shot up her arm.

“Folks try anything to ease their minds.”

Beca startled, pulling her touch away entirely as she turned towards the voice. She hadn’t heard the doors open, nor the footsteps in the gravel. She blamed the plain white nurses' shoes that that woman wore over her own lack of perception.

She recognized the voice from over the telephone almost instantly. Director Emma Woodward was older than she had imagined, in her Mid-Forties. She had embraced the grey that sprinkled her hair, pined up in extravagant curls. She wore a form-fitting baby-blue dress with a neatly folded collar. The neckline dropped down enough to expose a pale white chest. She wore a simple gold cross to cut against the color. It was modest and professional, and she didn’t seem to acknowledge the chill in the air.

“It must be frightening for them, leaving people here.” Beca shifted her bag and extended a hand “Rebecca Mitchell, Chicago Gazette, it’s nice to meet you in person.”

Emma smiled and it was a stunning sight. She had crinkles at the corners of her eyes and her nails were neatly painted. Beca found them too neat for a nurse, but she supposed becoming a director, as a female in the early 1900’s, was cause enough to treat for a manicure. She took her hand firmly.

“Emma Woodward, the pleasure is all ours. I must admit, Miss Mitchell, we found it quite odd that a paper of your magnitude wanted to do a story on a place such as ours.”

Beca found heat blooming against her cheeks. It wasn’t their idea, it was entirely hers. It took hours of flirting and a couple of glasses of fine bourbon for their editor to agree to any type of story she had to offer that wasn’t about kitchen appliances or the proper way to tend to a man in his time of need.

She had done more than enough to persuade him, and when he finally did agree, it was in hopes to see her crash and burn. He had gotten a pleasant night out of it, and she had earned a chance (however slim) to run with it. Even if it was in a practical asylum at the height of a deadly illness.

“Yes, well, we’re very progressive.”

Emma nodded with that kind grin of hers and lead Beca up the stairs and into the main hall of the Hospital. An instant edge of heat wormed under her clothes and made her shiver. The scent of antiseptic burned her lungs in a quick moment.

The floor had an ugly checkered design of yellow and green, both colors faded and worn. There was a large oak staircase that leads to different wards, she assumed, and a few sofas with old editions of magazines on metal tables. Emma didn’t’ skip a beat as she started to ascend the steps.

“We have a couple of floors here, Miss Mitchell. The top one is strictly for research, then we move down to trauma level three. It’s where the patients that are furthest along stay, those who have signed off for study and treatment. Then we have our second to last floor. The right-wing is for mild cases while the left is for our staff's comfort. That’s where you’ll be staying.”

“And the ground floor?” Beca asked.

“That’s for those lucky enough to see themselves out.”

“Does that happen often, then?”

“Not as often as we would like, I’m afraid. Consumption is entirely new to all of us, and we’re still learning the ins and outs of its effects.”

Beca nodded even though she knew Emma didn’t notice. Her shoulder was aching by the time they ascended to the first landing. Instead of turning in the direction of the ward, they made their way down a crudely lit hallway with large metal doors blocking the main way.

Once through, the sticky heat of Evergreen seemed to thicken once more. The lights dimmed and the floors switched to linoleum instead of wood. Beca liked the way her shoes were muffled, and the paintings of flowers tacked to the yellow wallpaper.

“Evergreen used to be a schoolhouse.” Emma spouted off absently “After Thomas Evergreen’s daughters graduated and married on their own accords he sold it to a developer that made this place into a hotel. The basement flooded and then”

She stopped in front of a small door that had a little glass window cut out of it, she seemed to take a moment to catch her breath. “Well, he didn’t’ want to fix it so the city awarded it to us and we’ve done our best to make it easier on our staff. It’s simple to have them stay in here, but if we get too many patients I’m afraid we’ll have to relocate them as well.”

The door creaked open, and Beca could tell instantly that it was once used as storage. There was a small cot in the corner layered with multiple sheets to cushion the springs. There was something of a school desk with a few candles and a lighter by their side. It too smelled of antiseptic, a small window leading to a fire escape that she hadn’t noticed on the way in.

“It’s not much, I’m afraid.”

“It’s perfect,” Beca said.

Truthfully, it was bigger than her little apartment in Chicago and warmer too. She figured that the rest of the staff didn’t’ get much time to rest, to begin with. She was thankful to see an effort at making the tiny space livable.

“well,” Emma clapped her hands together “I’m sure you’re exhausted. We served dinner at Seven sharp, but don’t worry, if you sleep through it, breakfast is early enough. You’ve got free reign of this place, Rebecca Mitchell. You can shadow whenever and whomever you want for your story as long as you don’t get in the way. And stay out of the basement, there’s still a good bit of water damage down there, and I don’t want to see you in a bed on the other side of the hospital.”

Beca put two fingers over her chest “Scouts honor, Ma’am.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” She beamed that signature smile once more, the kind one of a maternal figure. “Now, I recommend steering clear of our nurses, at least for a bit. They’re wary of allowing the outside press into this environment. The orderlies will be more than happy to answer any pressing questions you have.”

“That sounds like quite the challenge, Miss Woodward.”

The woman scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest “Nurse Beale is challenging. So is her staff. Sleep tight.”

The director gave one last fleeting wave before swinging the door shut and leaving Beca to her own devices. The early Virginia sky was a sharp purple and reflected dust coating the window onto the cot. She flopped down onto it, letting out a thick sigh. She was going to get her story- even if it meant digging further than she had ever done before.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyy, we're back with another chapter. Let me know what you guys think!

**The scream sounded** like a vase shattering against hardwood floor. It was so guttural and primal that Beca Mitchell believed with her entire body that it hadn’t sounded off in the first place. She was hazy from sleep, stiff from being propped up on the brick wall of her tiny room- a room she didn’t recognize at first. She hadn’t remembered falling asleep, but Emma was right, she had missed dinner.

She found herself yearning for a moment, for the floral chair that was always positioned in the corner of her room at home. It was draped with a fleece blanket and a sharp chill had settled over her room here. Her eyes wandered to the shadowed edge of the space now and she found nothing but a nasty crack dripping with rusted water.

_That scream._

It made her jaw ache as it sounded again, over the hum of her own heartbeat. She had dozed off with her dip pen in her front pocket, the ink she had set up on the night table. It had leaked a spot that looked too much like Australia against the front of her pinstripe shirt. The button of her pants dug uncomfortably into her stomach as she scooted to the edge of the cot.

Evergreen Sanatorium, that’s where she had ended up. It had been so breathtakingly silent when they arrived like trained animals sat at the edges of their cages as Emma lead her down corridors. There wasn’t a sound to be had, but this one was so horrifying that it made the wallpaper curl.

She rushed to pull the faux gold watch from her front pocket. It popped open with a little click, the metal cooling against her sweaty palm. It almost burned with its starkness, but she licked her cracked lips and read the time. It was half-past two in the am.

Beca stood with much effort and slid the device back into her pocket her pants, ignoring the way the chain fell unevenly down the front of her slacks like uncombed hair. She crept silently to her door and flinched as it wailed like the source of the scream.

The hallway was still bathed in harsh neon lights, the fixtures humming above her like trapped flies. She glared at them for a moment, as if that would cease the buzz. It gave her nothing but spots to blink away as she peered down the corridor. It was empty, no one seemed to stir at the commotion.

She had pushed her boots off and left them by the cot, and thankfully so. Her socked feet made no noise as she tracked past the other closed doors that finally lead to the staircase. There was an echoed hacking bouncing off the walls, but that wasn’t the noise that disturbed her. It cut across the air once more, ending in a garbled crackling cough. It was coming from upstairs.

Beca gripped onto the railing as she walked up two full flights. Each floor was set up in the same way; unnaturally bright and deathly cold. Instead of living quarters, functioning rooms stretched to her left and her right. There was a reception desk at the top of the third floor. she squinted at the emptiness of the world.

There was an orderly, a dark-skinned man dressed in white linin slugging a mop across the tile. Beca let the breath caught in her chest pool in front of her as she pulled her shoulders back and walked towards him. The bucket that he used was muddy, and so was the water that he pushed around. There had been a stain the size of a notebook there before and he scrubbed toughly at the edges, dried and caked.

He glanced up, then down, and up again. He had pretty emerald eyes. “Ma’am?”

Beca suddenly didn’t know what to say. She was barefoot and quite disheveled and out of breath from her jog up to this level. And here was this orderly with a strong build and a kind smile with confused eyes. She hadn’t thought her way through anything. _I’m the reporter from Chicago, what were those horrid screams?_

“Ah, bathroom?”

He laughed dryly and leaned against the wooden stick of the mop like it was a crutch. His chin lifted towards a long hallway that jutted from the rest, and suddenly, if she did have to use the restroom, the prospect of venturing into the shadows deterred her. So did the scream that echoed once more, louder this time.

“Right, thank you-“ She frowned, holding her finger up as if to stop herself “What is that noise?”

“That would be Miss Mesa. She’s been a resident here longer than most. Likes to holler her head off until she gets somewhere with it. Usually, we can hold her off for a bit longer, but she’s unruly tonight.” He lifted his chiseled chin “You visiting family, Ma’am?” 

“No, I’m a reporter with Chicago Gazette.” The words felt like jelly in her mouth. She had never said them to a man before. It was easier with Emma, it was a part of her title and branded into her skin. But this was different somehow, this tore through her chest in a flutter of disbelief.

“In that case, apologies for the disturbance. Anything else I can help you with? Other than directions.”

She scoffed “What’s your name?”

“Ian Atkins Ma’am, the best damn orderly in this place. Just don’t’ say that to any of the other ones or they’ll try to prove me wrong, that will get them to work a hell of a lot harder.”

Beca decided that she liked Ian. He had bags under his eyes, the deep green pools reflecting the awful checkered pattern of the floor. But he worked through it and she found that admirable enough. She smiled and relished the lemon cleaner that burned her lungs.

“I'm Beca,” She offered, narrowing her eyes “This Miss Mesa, how long exactly has she been here?”

He pressed his lips into a thin line and leaned into the stick of the mop a little more. “Well, that depends, I’ve been here for a few months now and that rooms always been occupied by her shouting. She’s a bit of a legend around here, suppose.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, you ain’t hear this from me, but some of the lower staff have bets on when she’s goin’ to croak. There’s a money pot in the back. But the more religious of us believe that even when she does bite the dust, she won’t go far. You’ve heard her yell, that’s not something stopped by death.”

Beca hummed for a moment and stared down the stretch of hallway. Ian looked like the only spirit here. The mop squelched under his weight, its water a dark color that was akin to blood. If she didn’t need to use the bathroom before, her midsection ached as if it had to now.

“Religious, are we?”

“Not all of us, no.” He shook his head, kicking dumbly at the dingy yellow bucket “When you live in a place like this it’s easier to cling to the idea of something, suppose. Some of us prefer logic, but there’s a temple in the basement if you’re inclined.”

She wasn’t, not in the slightest. She wished she wasn’t blinking away sleep or the raw feeling in her bones. She should have brought up her journal, something to pull bytes from. She would shield his name from the public- no one with sense listens to an orderly, but lucky for Beca Mitchell, she didn’t have much, to begin with.

Beca fished into her front pocket, still soaked with ink, and produced a folded five-dollar bill. It was damp from her own sweat, or maybe the coolness of the weather. She clamped it between two fingers and held it out “Five on her not making it until I leave.”

Ian eyed it apprehensively for a moment before that dazzling smile cut through his expression. He grabbed and unfolded it, letting it snap like a wet towel in a locker room. “It’s a bet, Beca.”

“What’s a bet?”

A certain blush of color rushed to Ivan’s cheeks. It was painstakingly visible under the fluorescents. He stopped leaning on the stick of the mop like a vice and pushed its soaked base around. Beca stiffened at the sound of authority in the stranger's voice. This wasn’t Emma, and by the sharp tone, it wasn’t a patient either.

“Nothing, Miss Beale, the new kid and I were just discussin’ a few things.” He cleared his throat.

Beca let her shoulders drop as she turned to face the woman. Her lungs contracted and suddenly she felt like no amount of water, or liquor, in the world would quench her thirst. Even in the light of the harsh overheads, the woman held a certain archaic beauty to her; a painting that was left unfinished by just one stroke of a brush, a pencil drawing smeared by the palm of the hand.

Her hair was like fire, or the sun bouncing off of a large body of water. It flowed around her shoulders and stood out magnificently against the mint green undershirt that was hidden by a nurse's apron. She wore the same shoes Emma did, and Beca realized at that moment that they were impossibly quiet and that she had been staring, open-mouthed, for two long.

“You’re the head nurse?” She took note of the name. “I wasn’t expecting…”

The woman narrowed her eyes “No, go on, finish your sentence.” 

“Someone so young.”

“Right, well, someone as _young_ as me also isn’t as daft as one would think. I don’t take kindly to my staff betting on the mortality rate of my patients. You seem well seasoned, I figured you would know that.”

Beca felt like she had been punched in the gut. The only thing worse than doing a bad thing was getting caught doing a bad thing. Emma had said that the nurses wouldn’t take to her in any capacity. But Nurse Beale’s hostility made her skin prickle. She was taken aback by the insult and even more by the beauty of the mouth spouting it. 

The nurse must have sensed this, she lifted her chin, tone softer as she walked towards the stairs “Follow me.”

The reporter gaped for a few moments before dashing off behind the woman. She gave Ian a half-decent goodbye first. She pretended vaguely to not be out of breath. Nurse Beale was fast, and mean, and damned attractive.

“Not even an hour here and I’m being taken to the principal’s office.”

“I’m not in charge.”

“Sure act like it.”

She stopped abruptly. Beca was shorter than her and walking faster, her shoulder hitting the other woman’s. The nurse was cold, not just in demeanor, but by the touch of a hand. Beca felt every inch of hair raise as her breath caught. She smelled metallic and hot like the base of a tea kettle.

“While you’re in Evergreen, Miss Mitchell, there is a certain code of conduct that is to be followed.”

Beca swallowed hard, “Which is?”

“Respect,” She drew out the word like the long edge of a blade “The staff respects me, and I mind Emma. But when Emma isn’t around.”

“You’re the one to follow,” Beca nodded slowly.

“Right. And I don’t much appreciate you snooping through the halls at night. Not for a puff piece.”

Beca let out a laugh that might have been too loud and nervous for the situation, but she didn’t care. Her cheeks here hot and her fingers were twitching, and the woman in front of her was dragging her stare up and down her body.

“A Puff piece? This is going to be the story of the year.”

“Quite cocky for a woman.” Beca frowned and the woman held up a hand “Mind yourself, Miss Mitchell. You know where your quarters are. I suggest you find your way back to them.”

The woman walked briskly past the staircase and through a set of doors that were labeled in big red letters. Off-limits. Beca watched as she vanished. She stood at the top of the staircase for a few moments, fingers trying to rub some feeling back into the place where her arm brushed with the head nurse. 


End file.
